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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522629">haircut song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall'>allapplesfall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Station 19 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e16 Louder Than A Bomb, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scene Rewrite, it's the haircut scene if vic came instead of jack, the station 19 women are!! friends!!, this is self-indulgent and soft because i love them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:35:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vic's not exactly sure what she expects when she walks into the bathroom. Sobs, maybe, from a closed stall. Bishop, tough as nails, washing her hands like nothing’s wrong. Even an empty room: maybe she walked out already and they all missed her.</p><p>She doesn’t expect to find Maya—not Bishop, <em>Maya</em>—standing pale as tile in front of the mirror, scissors in her right hand and her ponytail in her left. </p><p>(A scene rewrite for 3x16.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maya Bishop &amp; Victoria Hughes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>haircut song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey guys! so, since station 19 now lives in my head rent-free, here's another scene rewrite for the end of season three. i wrote this to be in the same universe as my other fic, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888801">born again with each sunrise</a>, but you don't have to read that one to read this one. basically, just know that maya didn't sleep with jack in 3x15.</p><p>title is a reference to haircut song, by shannen moser</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vic is never drinking again.</p><p>Like, for real this time. Fuck all the times that she’s said that before—today, right now, she’s swearing to herself that she’ll never touch a single drop of alcohol for the rest of her life. Ever. Her head would probably hurt less if she’d gotten trampled by a raging bison. Her heart won’t stop pounding. She feels jittery and nauseous and totally exhausted.</p><p>Funnily enough, having a killer hangover and nearly getting blown up by a bomb can do that to a girl.</p><p>Watching Dixon getting driven away in handcuffs does help. It helps a lot, actually. If their armloads of lymphoma research are the cake, seeing the crooked bastard get his dues is some pretty satisfying icing.</p><p>“Where do we put this stuff?” she asks. She holds up her blue bag of…something. Something critical and lifesaving, thank you very much.</p><p>Dean looks over, above his stack of mouse containers. “Aid car?</p><p>“We’re gonna take mice to the ER?”</p><p>“They gotta go to the hospital anyway, don’t they?”</p><p>She makes a fair-enough kind of face.</p><p>Travis spots an aid car and nods them toward it. They follow. The paramedics take a minute to come around to the idea (and get the incredulous staring out of their systems) but eventually, they give the okay to secure the rodents in the back. The woman in the gurney has minor injuries and won’t need care till the hospital. She watches with dazed, glassy-eyed curiosity.</p><p>“Feel better soon,” Vic says. She gives her a smile before ducking back out into the parking lot.</p><p>Time to go back home. Back to the station. Same difference.</p><p>She’s halfway across the crowded asphalt, ducking and weaving around triage tents and cops, when a bomb squad guy intercepts her. “Hey,” he says. “You’re Station 19, right?”</p><p>She blinks. “Yeah. You need a hand with something?”</p><p>“No, no, you guys did your thing. We’re doing ours now.”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows expectantly.</p><p>“I just wanted to give you a heads-up. While we were on-call, your Captain—Bishop, right?”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“There was an altercation. A civilian broke the line and got aggressive. He tried to physically– He yanked her ponytail. We intervened to keep him back. And I dunno if I read the situation right, but from what I got, I think it was her father.”</p><p>Maya’s <em>dad?</em></p><p>“Shit,” Vic says.</p><p>“Yeah, I just– Well, I figured you might wanna check in on her. That’s all.”</p><p>“No, yeah. Thanks.”</p><p>He grimaces, nods, and goes back to walking wherever he was headed.</p><p>Vic tries to find Maya in the hubbub but can’t spot her. She catches back up with Travis.</p><p>“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Have you seen Bishop?”</p><p>“You mean, since we both saw her five minutes ago?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Nope. Something wrong?”</p><p>She purses her lips, steps closer. “One of the bomb squad guys just stopped me. Said her dad was here. And the stuff he was saying….”</p><p>Travis frowns. “What kind of stuff?”</p><p>“He grabbed her <em>hair</em>.” She tastes something bitter at the back of her throat. “I need to check on her, make sure she’s okay.”</p><p>“What?” Travis blinks. She can see the moment he processes what she said—he nods, grips her arm through her turnout coat. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah. Her <em>hair?”</em></p><p>They share a look.</p><p>She spends the next few minutes helping the team load gear back on the engine. She keeps an eye out every time she turns to pick up something new, but they’re nearly done by the time she sees the flash of a blonde ponytail.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, moving to intercept when Bishop turns away from the hospital administrator she’d been talking to. “Captain, you okay?”</p><p>Bishop faces her. Vic clocks the stiffened edges of her shoulders, the too-precise set of her mouth. “I’m fine,” she says, voice brisk, off, tired. She forces a smile. “We’ve done all we could, it’s time to get back to the station. You all deserve a rest after today.”</p><p>She tries to push past Vic to the engine’s door.</p><p>“Hey,” Vic says, putting a hand out to catch her shoulder.</p><p>She barely makes contact before Maya pivots, eyes flashing, and takes two defensive steps back. “Don’t touch me.”</p><p>“Oh,” Vic says, stomach knotting. Something’s completely and totally wrong. “Sorry, hey, sorry.” She looks around, dropping her volume out of respect for the fact that some stuff you don’t need to spread to every guy on the truck. “Bomb squad mentioned something went down earlier. I just wanted to see if you were good.”</p><p>Maya’s eyes flick skyward. She swallows, her throat bobbing. “Thank you for your concern,” she says. “But I’m fine.”</p><p>“Maya….”</p><p>“Hughes, don’t.” Something in Maya’s voice creaks like a damaged load-bearing wall. “Please. Just leave it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Vic says. She puts her hands up. “Yeah, sure. Cool.”</p><p>She pulls herself into the back. Travis sits across from her; Dean belts himself in behind the steering wheel. Maya climbs into the passenger seat.</p><p><em>Well? </em>Travis mouths, jerking his head towards Maya. His eyebrows arch, creasing his forehead in stacked lines.</p><p>Vic shakes her head.</p><p>He frowns.</p><p>“Good work today, Miller,” she hears Maya say.</p><p>“Thank Gibson,” says Dean. “He’s the one who carried it.”</p><p>“No, no,” Vic cuts in. Suddenly it hits her, in that crazy dunk-you-under-the-waterfall kind of post-call rush—they nearly got blown up by a bomb. A fucking <em>bomb</em>. Jesus Christ. No way in hell is she about to let Dean get away with playing humble right now. “<em>You</em> trained with bomb squad. You saved our asses out there.”</p><p>Travis nods. “Exactly. If it weren’t for you, we would be splatters—cute splatters, but splatters—on a hospital wall. And not even the wall of a hospital we like.”</p><p>“Yup,” Vic agrees. “Splatters, Miller. We got you to thank.”</p><p>“No problem,” Dean says. She can see a small, pleased smile tug at his lips. “Not like becoming a splatter was on my list of things to do today either.”</p><p>“Mm. Prue might’ve had some strong words about it if it was. Or strong yells.” She rubs at her ear protectors. “I think I can still hear them from here.”</p><p>“That,” Travis corrects, pointing a finger at her, “is post-bomb tinnitus. Very similar, though, easy mistake.”</p><p>Vic grins and reaches out as if to shove him.</p><p>They joke around a bit more, the three of them, playing off some of the adrenaline jitters. At one point, Vic sneaks a look at Bishop through the rear-view mirror. She sits motionless and unspeaking, staring out the window. Her eyes are a million miles away.</p><p>Back at the station, Vic does her part to clean and restock the rig. She wishes the probie were still around, if only so she could make him do the hoses. After, they pile into the locker room.</p><p>“I need a drink,” Warren says.</p><p>“Ugh,” Vic groans.</p><p>“Don’t say drink,” says Travis.</p><p>Warren laughs. “Hair of the dog?”</p><p>Vic groans again. She rests her head against her forearm, pressed up against the locker.</p><p>“Today,” Dean manages, “was…”</p><p>“Aw, come on, guys!” Warren brings his hands together in a little clap, way over-exceeding the enthusiasm of the rest of the squad combined. “Look, Dixon is <em>fired</em>.”</p><p>“And in jail,” Vic adds, straightening.</p><p>“We gotta at least celebrate that.”</p><p>“Okay, sure,” Gibson says, sounding like he’s agreeing mostly to make Warren lower his voice.</p><p>Briefly, Vic considers her recent resolution to never drink again. Then she chucks it to the wayside with all her other broken self-promises. “I’m down,” she says. “Let’s do it.”</p><p>“Alright,” agrees Dean. “Prue’s still at my sister’s. Ding dong, Dixon is dead.”</p><p>Vic walks away from her locker. She runs into Gibson, and both of them glance back down the hall towards the bathroom.</p><p>Bishop hasn’t come out yet.</p><p>Vic and Jack have a silent conversation with their eyes. <em>You? Me?</em></p><p>She’s tempted to walk away and let him handle it, but the look in Maya’s eye when she said <em>don’t touch me</em> sticks like a melting boot to the asphalt of her mind. Besides, are Maya and Jack even on good enough terms anymore? After the whole break-up/promotion/Rigo thing?</p><p>No, she’s the one the bomb squad guy stopped. She can go in with some context, at least.</p><p>And, well, it’s not like her head is exactly begging her to go to Miller’s right this second.</p><p>She pushes her towel into Jack’s hands and gestures towards the rest of the guys. She’s hit him enough times that he’ll know what to do with it.</p><p>He nods.                                   </p><p>She’s not exactly sure what she expects when she walks into the bathroom. Sobs, maybe, from a closed stall. Bishop, tough as nails, washing her hands like nothing’s wrong. Even an empty room: maybe she walked out already and they all missed her.</p><p>She doesn’t expect to find Maya—not Bishop, <em>Maya</em>—standing pale as tile in front of the mirror, scissors in her right hand and her ponytail in her left.</p><p>“Oh,” Vic says, without meaning to.</p><p>Maya’s eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, find hers in the mirror. Her throat bobs.</p><p>“Are you…?” <em>Okay,</em> she means to add, but the answer is so clearly no she lets the question trail off.</p><p>“I was so stupid,” Maya says. Her voice isn’t shaky but shaken, like a structure left in the aftermath after a big quake. Each word is a steel girder, revealed by the crumbling concrete of <em>this</em>.</p><p>And it hits her. This is <em>Maya.</em></p><p>Maya, who tried so hard to help her get over her fear of fire, because ‘like you said, we’re family.’ Maya, who climbed on top of the engine and held her after Ripley died. Maya, who tied her tie and wiped tears off her cheeks before the funeral. Maya, who, just a couple weeks ago, struck a silly pose with a blow-up unicorn and didn’t know how to hold her hands. Maya, who then immediately dropped to the floor when Vic started to cry.</p><p>Maya, cocky, intense, funny Maya, who loves hard and tough and half the time still surprises herself with just how much she cares.</p><p>It’s been so easy to forget, with the unbelievable magnitude of losing Lucas and losing Herrera hitting her like the universe’s most fucked up one-two punch. So easy to just see Captain Bishop. Callous, obnoxious, hard-ass Captain Bishop. The shrieking whistles, the clipboard camping trips, the run-you-dead workouts somehow blotted out all the evenings spent splitting beers on the porch, the nights laughing in the club, the mornings walking into her house and dropping down onto the plush sofa.</p><p>Vic hates forgetting. Vic has a bone to pick with the human <em>ability </em>to forget. The fact that she nearly forgot the Maya who was her family just because it was easier to hate the asshole in charge? Pisses her off as much as it breaks her heart.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, dead serious. “You’re not stupid.”</p><p>“I am.” Maya’s standing so stiffly—her back ramrod straight, her chin tipped evenly with her newly chopped hair. “Everyone else saw the truth but me. Everyone.”</p><p>“The truth about what?”</p><p>Maya’s nostrils flare. Her words come out as bitter as the czarna from Vic’s parents’ restaurant. “My dad.”</p><p>Right.</p><p>She and Maya don’t really talk about their childhoods. That’s not the kind of friends they are. There are things you don’t go into in detail, that you don’t think you need to. They’ve washed dishes elbow-to-elbow after Friendsgivings, each knowing that both of them would rather be here than with their blood. Vic had once mentioned that her parents could never make it to a single performance; Maya had replied that her dad had never missed a single race. It hadn’t been rude. They understood, somehow, that neither was something you wanted.</p><p>And now Maya, ponytail sawed off with kitchen scissors.</p><p>“Bomb squad said he came to the scene today.”</p><p>“He did.”</p><p>Vic lets it sit, trying not to push. Maya’s hollow stare, directed at herself in the mirror, warns her that too much prying will shut her down.</p><p>“My mom and Carina–“</p><p>“Your hot doctor lover?”</p><p>Maya closes her swollen eyes and lets out a tiny huff of air from her nose. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Right, go on.” Vic moves out of the doorway. She pushes herself up so she can sit on the sink counter.</p><p>“They’ve spent the last…I don’t know, while. Trying to convince me. They saw it. Mason saw it. Everyone could see it.” She folds her lips.</p><p>“You see it now, though.”</p><p>A pause. “Normal dads don’t do the things he did. But he was such a big part of my life for so long.” Maya eyes trace the tips of her new haircut. Her voice stays flat, trembling just at the edges. “I spent most of my time running for him. Caring just about that, because he said winning was the most important thing. Until my racing blew my ankle and damn near killed my baby brother, so I stopped. But I didn’t stop listening to him. I couldn’t. <em>His </em>voice is the one I still hear in my head, every day.”</p><p>Vic doesn’t know this man, but she wants to dangle him off the roof of a building and watch him piss himself in fear.</p><p>“Even firefighting.” She takes a shallow breath. “I know you guys hate me for taking Captain. For fucking everything up.”</p><p>“We don’t hate you,” Vic says. She remembers saying, <em>I can make it look like an accident</em> and swallows back regret.</p><p>“I thought I’d locked up the competitor that he– he pounded into me, but the moment I had a chance to win… The moment I thought I might <em>lose</em>? It was like I was back there all over again. I took the job and I ruined 19. And then I ruined the best relationship I ever had. Because of him.”</p><p>“Hey, listen to me. We’re not ruined.”</p><p>Maya does that little nose huff again, but it’s harsher this time. Less amused-deep-down and more disbelieving.</p><p>Vic changes tactics. “What happened with your hot doctor lover?”</p><p>She looks down. “I said some things. I’m- I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Maya tries for humor, lips twisting, but with her watery eyes and pallor it was doomed from the start, “but I can be kind of a dick.”</p><p>“Maya, you’ve always been kind of a dick. It’s why we love you.”</p><p>When Maya doesn’t react to the teasing, when her eyebrows cinch together instead of relaxing, Vic’s the one who feels like a dick.</p><p>“Hey,” she says. “Okay, so why’d you say shit like that?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Why’d you say it?”</p><p>“I was… I was pissed. And– Overwhelmed. And she was saying things, and she wouldn’t leave.”</p><p>“Things about your dad?”</p><p>Maya nods.</p><p>“So you lashed out. It was, like, a defense mechanism.”</p><p>“But I don’t want to be that.” Maya raises her voice for the first time since Vic walked in, and her eyes go hard and her words sharp. She looks at Vic. “I don’t want to be the person who yells and hurts the people around me. I– I don’t want to yell.”</p><p>“Wait.” Vic searches her eyes, her expression. “Do you think you’re like your dad?”</p><p>She stays quiet.</p><p>Vic shakes her head. “Maya, you’re not your dad.”</p><p>Silence stretches. The white light of the bathroom gleams off the tile, the shower fixtures, the waterlines of Maya’s eyes.</p><p>“I can cut off my hair, but I don’t know how to cut his touch out of <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Vic reaches out, catches Maya’s cold hand in hers. She feels the bony knuckles and soft ponytail press against her palm.</p><p>Maya looks down.</p><p>They stay like that for a minute. Vic tries to think of the right words. Her natural instinct is to deflect this conversation, to crack a joke or make some comment that’ll tip the corner of Maya’s mouth up—but if she does that, Maya will keep carrying this fear around, unchallenged.</p><p>“I know it might not seem like it lately,” she says finally. “But you’re one of my best friends. I’ve known you since I came to 19. And I like to think I have good taste in people, so it’s kind of rude, honestly, that you think I would’ve been best friends with an asshole.”</p><p>Maya’s lips tighten—in amusement or resistance, she can’t tell.</p><p>“What your dad did to you…it probably screwed you up. I know what my parents did to me screwed me up. I might seem amazingly well-adjusted, or whatever….” She lets the statement dangle there, waits for the slight shake of Maya’s head that means she registers it as a joke. “But it did. And that’s on them, that’s not my fault. Just like this isn’t your fault.</p><p>“You’re more than just your dad’s daughter. Sure, you should probably do the work to, like, process everything he did to you. Unlearn the parts that make you scared you’re like him. And cry–“ Vic nods authoritatively. “I’m a <em>big </em>believer in the healing power of crying.”</p><p>Maya presses out a wobbly smile. A tear gathers on her bottom lashes.</p><p>“See?”</p><p>“I just– I’m so tired of fighting.” Her words rasp, exhausted. Her fingers flex in Vic’s hands. “Fighting to– to push myself up the hill to getting better, doing better. It’s like I have this huge rock. I’d pushed the rock almost to the top of the hill. So close.” She inhales. “So close. And then I shoved it back down again, and crushed a bunch of the plants I care about. And I don’t know how to fix it and… I’m so tired.”</p><p>“Hold up.”</p><p>Maya swallows.</p><p>“D’you think you hit Station 19 with your rock?”</p><p>She doesn’t answer, which is an answer.</p><p>“Okay, well, speaking as a crushed plant, I know one thing that would make me feel better.”</p><p>Maya raises her red-rimmed gaze to hers in a <em>well?</em> kind of way.</p><p>“Free pizza.”</p><p>Maya huffs.</p><p>“I’m serious. We’re going to Dean’s, we’re gonna crack open a few—perfect time for pizza.”</p><p>“After last night, you want to crack open a few.”</p><p>“New day, new me.”</p><p>Maya’s eyes try to hold onto the humor, but Vic watches it trickle away as they drift to the side.</p><p>“No,” Vic says, sobering. “Honestly, I think the best thing you can do is like…say you’re sorry. To whoever you hurt. And then change your behavior so you don’t keep pushing rocks off of hills. Okay, nope, I don’t think the rock metaphor’s working for me.”</p><p>“We could use a truck.”</p><p>“I don’t– I don’t even wanna know.” She shakes her head. “We’re talking about people. Sure, you didn’t have the greatest start as Captain. You can still apologize. You can still stop making us do workouts that make me wanna die. <em>Please</em> say you’ll stop doing the workouts. Please, please.”</p><p>Her mouth quirks despite herself.</p><p>They sit, for a moment.</p><p>Maya squares her shoulders. She turns to face Vic. “I’m sorry, Vic,” she says. “For how I’ve acted so far as Captain.”</p><p>“Cool,” Vic says. “I’m sorry we didn’t see there was something going on with you sooner. But…we both know it’s not really me you have to apologize to.”</p><p>Maya looks down. “It’s too late for that. Way too late.”</p><p>Vic squeezes her hand. “Say it anyway. You…” And now Vic feels a lump form in the back of her throat, and her eyes sting. “You only get so much time.”</p><p>What wouldn’t she give for another chance to screw something up and then apologize?</p><p>She tips her head back against the mirror. God, this year needs to fucking end.</p><p>Maya sets the scissors down with a <em>click</em> on the counter. She rests her hand on Vic’s knee. “Hey.”</p><p>“No, no. We’re talking about you, not me.”</p><p>“Vic….”</p><p>Vic sighs. “I’m sad. I’m still really sad. I’m sad because of Pruitt. I’m sad because of Ryan. I’m sad because of Rigo. I’m sad because no one should ever have hurt you, especially not your dad. I’m sad because none of us checked in to see if you were okay. I’m sad because I screwed things up with Jackson. And I’m sad because every day I wake up, and I have to remember that Lucas won’t ever be there again.”</p><p>She has to stop, then, and press her eyes closed. Her chest feels hot and tight.</p><p>Maya’s hand tightens on her knee.</p><p>“And I’m allowed to be sad about all that. And mad, because I’m still mad, too. And I feel that. And I can’t stop feeling that. ‘Cuz Maya, when you try to shove things down, it doesn’t make them better. It makes them worse. So if you feel awful right now, okay. You feel awful. But you’re not alone. We’ll help you push that boulder up, if you let us.”</p><p>She blinks her gummy eyes open to see tears on Maya’s cheeks.</p><p>She wants to lift her hand to wipe them away, but she senses Maya would jerk back from the touch. Instead, she says, “Yeah?”</p><p>Maya nods. “Yeah,” she murmurs.</p><p>Vic smiles. “Okay. Now, you gonna come to Miller’s? Buy us that pizza?”</p><p>“I think I should probably take your advice. Go apologize.”</p><p>“Right now? After a bomb call, a run-in with your dad, and a bathroom breakdown?”</p><p>Maya looks like she’s about to say yes, all of the above.</p><p>Vic shakes her head. “Tomorrow. Seriously, c’mon, tomorrow. Give yourself a minute. Do it right.”</p><p>Maya’s shoulders tighten. “Fine,” she says. “But, uh. I don’t think I should come to Miller’s. Have fun.”</p><p>“You wanna be alone?”</p><p>She hesitates.</p><p>Vic waits until the silence lasts long enough to become a <em>no</em>. She scoops up the scissors and gives the air two experimental snips. “No offense, but hairdresser is not your future career path. It’s a bit choppy. Let me give it a shot?”</p><p>At Vic’s prompting, Maya moves in front of her, hips fitted in the space between Vic’s knees. She tilts her chin down, slightly, to give her access to the hacked-off bottoms of her hair.</p><p>Vic runs her hand through it, fingertips just grazing the scalp. “It’s darker when it's short. It suits you, Bishop.”</p><p>Maya doesn’t answer, but the muscles in her exposed neck relax. She looks small, like this. For all her ferocity, Maya is the shorter of the two of them.</p><p>“Ready to let me work some Hughes family magic?”</p><p>“Your family works in a restaurant."</p><p>Vic shrugs. “Face it. Your hair is practically spaghetti.”</p><p>Maya sighs. “I’m going to regret this," she says.</p><p>With a smile, Vic raises the scissors to the rough ends of the bob. “Probably,” she admits, and makes the first cut.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading this super self-indulgent hc!! i love these girls &lt;33</p></blockquote></div></div>
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